“Don’t forget to take your kangaroo!” I yell at her retreating body, but my words bounce.
My son scoots past me on fast forward before skidding to turn the corner, “just a minute Sunny Jim, why are you all wet? What happened?”
“It is just be water,” he explains by way of excuse.
“Water? Well I suppose that’s good…” I pause to process the "full magnitude" of this unexpected development in my son…. ”but where did it come from dear?”
“Eleven-armed sea star.”
“No. Eleven-armed sea star.”
“Yes we are be play together.” I am surprised, again, by this unexpected additional and voluntary piece of information. Almost a "conversation?"
“Ah the plastic ones.”
“Yes, upstairs……in dah water.”
I run upstairs to check the source of the said water but I’m nabbed by Nonna, mid muddle, “Maddy?”
“Yes. How can I help?”
“Dis ting!” she flaps the thing at me to aid eye tracking. An empty water bottle.
“You want some more? It’s in the fridge.”
“No? You don’t want some more? Want do you want?”
“I want to put it in the ting.”
“Ah! I’ll put it in the recycling for you then.”
I tuck the bottle under my elbow and leg it upstairs on the theory that a gallon or two gathered now, will save considerable cash outlay later. I bump into his brother at the top of the stairs who screams with surprise. His scream of surprise surprises me, as I am usually off radar. This can only mean one thing, “what are you doing?” I demand.
“Nuffink,” he says sweetly.
“You’re wet too. Why are you wet? Were you playing with the star fish too?”
I dash past him to pursue my original pursuit. I find my youngest daughter and her pal in the bathroom along with many, many soggy towels.
“What on earth are you doing?”
They pull back hanks of wet hair to grin at me.
“Are you playing………hair dressers or something?”
“No, we’re just helpin out the guys.”
“Really! In what way might I ask?”
“Our hair is the seaweed in the underwater wonderworld.”
“The sink!” I pick up the towels when I hear the front door open. I careen back to hall counting heads en route, but it’s only my daughter setting off on her bicycle trip. As the rear wheel exits I decide not to admonish her for having her outside toys on the inside, as since she is 27 years old my mantra message is rather mouldy. “Have a great time! It's very hot! Don’t forget your kangaroo!” She reverses back into the hall to peer at me with an air of condescension, “it’s a "camel" mother, not a kangaroo.”
I stand and wave. Nonna appears, retrieves the bottle from under my arm and waves it too, by my side as she mutters, "children! Not Sunny Jims but dah Jimmy Know it alls!"
7 hours ago